


Rasasvada

by whiskeyandspite



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Claiming sex, Kink, Lingerie, M/M, Oral, PWP, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Smut, Teasing, sex through clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 03:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19369231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: Will Graham didn’t like being touched.A shameless smut piece about Will's reasons for not wanting to be touched... and why Hannibal is the only one who gets to touch him. It has been a HOT MINUTE since I've written Hannigram... please be kind!





	Rasasvada

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSeaVoices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSeaVoices/gifts), [SLSmith22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLSmith22/gifts).



> Dedicated to two beautiful women who have stunningly filthy minds. I adore you both. I hope this brightens up the week <3
> 
> Based on two gorgeous images I found on Tumblr. [This beauty here](https://krusier.tumblr.com/post/183378754330/may-i), and [this breathtaking photoset here](https://justanothertart.tumblr.com/post/184853753991/revealing-a-bit-of-lace-and-a-rope-harness).

Will Graham didn’t like being touched.

Hannibal had seen him shy away from people who came near enough to breathe on him. He’d seen Will tilt his head, cross them from his vision with the frames of his glasses and wait for them to leave. He’d seen Will physically push people’s hands off of him, step away from embraces, tense visibly when someone offered comfort. Hannibal had made it a personal goal early in their acquaintance to break Will of the habit around him and him alone; he made it a point of pride to be interesting to him.

And the more interesting Will found him, the closer he let Hannibal approach. The doctor watched Will encourage the breach of personal space as others continued to be excluded, he relished the way Will looked him in the eye, he relished the flash of teeth that came with his rare genuine smiles.

But still he did not let Hannibal touch. He tensed when the doctor rested a hand on his shoulder, deliberately arched aside if he tried to guide him with a hand against his lower back. But even in this resistance, Hannibal had watched the resolve crumble. He enjoyed how - though Will himself remained distant - he reached out for Hannibal himself on occasion, how he removed the invisible wall he held against himself around others, how he willingly breathed Hannibal into him.

\--

The first time Will kissed him, he smelled like a monster. 

Evil coursed through his veins, curled claws of his fingers, made fangs of his teeth. He held Hannibal close and devoured him, and when Hannibal bit back, stepped nearer, grasped against Will’s neck, Will allowed himself to be consumed. Hannibal had him over the desk, uncaring for the way Will shoved his carefully organized papers to the floor, carpeting it in words, treasuring the lines Will’s nails left against his thighs, urging him closer, faster, harder against him.

He had not woken to Will the next morning.

Will had not allowed Hannibal to touch him the next day.

The denial ached through Hannibal, raised a fierce and angry roar within his heart. But he had eased it, soothed it, stayed only as near as WIll allowed him, breathed in the clean whiskey-scent of him and waited.

\--

Will came to him, Hannibal noticed, when he was not himself. 

He came to him as murderers and monsters, creatures brimming with confidence and finesse. He came to Hannibal as he thought Hannibal wanted him. And Hannibal took, for a time. Drew his tongue against the sharp hammering pulse of another in the body of his Will, nuzzled into the sweaty curls that reeked of pain and anger, pulled from his throat growls of cruelty and inelegance.

And then he didn’t.

When Will came to him next, Hannibal sent him away, hands tight against his hair and throat, threats grit through crooked teeth to the monster within that he come as Will or not at all. Twice he warned him. Thrice. Will fought back with his arousal, his desire, his pride. Hannibal withstood them all.

He mourned, of course, when he saw _his_ Will in lectures, glasses cutting people out of his line of sight, voice low and melodious in his reliving of others’ crimes on screen. He mourned, when his Will stepped close in Hannibal’s office, looked to his eyes, but still shied from his hands. He mourned.

And he waited.

Hannibal was a patient man, and strays responded kindly to being allowed to take their time.

\--

It was late when Will arrived, having parked beyond the drive and walked up to the door. He had been allowing himself the time to turn on his heel, march back to his car, without the shame of knowing Hannibal would see him run. 

He didn’t run. 

He knocked.

He counted his breaths against the measured steps beyond the door. He closed his eyes as it opened.

“Will.”

Hannibal’s voice was smooth, low, and he held the door without stepping aside to let Will in. He waited. He watched. And Will felt his pulse against his trachea before he sighed, licked his lips.

“Will.” He confirmed.

Hannibal felt the truth in that, the warmth of it. He could see that before him stood the man he sought for every time his likeness entered his office, passionate and heated and aching, but monstrous. Hannibal’s fingers pressed to the doorframe, flexed, and then he stepped aside, allowing Will through.

The contact was immediate, Will’s fingers settling between the buttons of Hannibal’s jacket, curling softly there. And then he passed, through the corridor, past the kitchen and beyond. With the quiet click of the lock, Hannibal followed him.

Will had been on a case. 

He had returned unrecognizable, days before, and Hannibal had watched as the creature that went near him wore Will’s face and clawed against his skin to break free. He’d waited. Now, he approached Will carefully like one would a startled animal, and watched the way his shoulders gathered, the way his spine straightened. But when he set a hand against Will’s shoulder, expecting resistance, he didn’t shrug it off, didn’t flinch away.

“Hannibal.”

“Tell me.”

Will’s breath shuddered from him, hissing past his teeth. Hannibal could smell the panic on him, that cloying destruction that he knew tugged at Will’s voice when he was himself, that held his exceptional mind in a vice. He expected silence. He expected an agitated groan. He expected a demand for space... But then Will turned, and stepped nearer. And his hand rested at Hannibal’s heart to find its beat to steady himself. And he turned his nose to Hannibal’s jaw to breathe him in.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t hold myself together when so many parts of myself get torn away by people - _things_ -” 

Will swallowed, turning softer against Hannibal, seeking closeness that usually came from grasping limbs and boiling blood. He turned as Hannibal had waited for him to, seeking, asking, _allowing_ this. Hannibal brought his knuckles up against a stubbled cheek, drew his thumb beneath the glasses Will used as a shield against anyone else.

And when he turned his fingers, taking the frames in his hand, Will whimpered, pressed his lips against Hannibal’s throat.

“I try,” he sighed. “I’ve tried alone. But I need - I need -”

“Show me.”

“God,” Will’s breath whispered slick against Hannibal’s pulse, pressed there a moment more before Will set his hands to his doctor’s face and held him near to kiss him. His brows furrowed when Hannibal held his glasses further away, but Will didn’t reach for them, didn’t reach for that weapon. He opened his mouth and welcomed the tongue that sought against his. He spread his fingers through the tickling strands against the back of Hannibal’s neck.

He rocked up on the balls of his feet, drawing their foreheads together, nuzzling his nose against Hannibal’s. One hand slipped from Hannibal’s neck to his shoulder, lower still down his arm. Will pressed gently at the curve of his elbow, his breath stuttering, before his fingers slipped further to his wrist, down to curl against Hannibal’s elegant hand.

He heard the click of his glasses as Hannibal folded them, set them alongside his pocket square for safekeeping, and then Will guided Hannibal’s hand to the top button of his shirt; after a case always buttoned fully, but only then, after a case clasping his throat like a hand, but only then. He pressed Hannibal’s fingers there, encouraging in his surrender of letting Hannibal work it open himself. Will didn’t say another word, he didn’t do anything but breathe against Hannibal, lean against him, eyes closed and heart pounding panic in his throat.

So Hannibal returned that silence, paced his own breathing, ducked his head to draw their lips together just enough to share air but no more. Hannibal’s fingers turned against the top button, drew down the soft flannel to the next, moved to the one beneath. But he found more there than fabric; something stronger, something sturdier clasped against Will’s throat, and Hannibal set a hand to Will’s chin as he leaned Will back far enough to look.

It was a collar, warm brown leather, gold detailing. At first glance nothing more than what one of Will’s mutts would wear and yet -

Hannibal knew better. Drew his thumb against the item made purely for this, for a man to wear, comfortable, softened so as not to chafe, strong so as not to slip. Hannibal’s eyes remained upon it, not on Will, though he could feel when Will opened his eyes to seek for him. His eyes trailed over the leather detailing crossing over the front, supporting a D ring, before his fingers followed. Worshipful, gentle.

Will’s breathing hitched, but he didn’t move away, he didn’t stop this. He shivered as Hannibal’s fingers sought lower, found the knots attached masterfully to the D ring and hooked a finger beneath one to pull the rope taut.

“I’ve tried,” he repeated, words barely audible above the rushing of blood in Hannibal’s ears, above the pounding of Will’s heart he could feel through the collar to his bones.

_Oh, Will._

Both hands moved to the buttons again, Hannibal tilting his head to take Will’s lips with his own once more, a reassurance, a promise, as he let himself uncover Will with his hands alone. He didn’t look even as his knuckles brushed smooth rope, he didn’t look as he peeled the shirt open and returned his hands to Will’s shoulders to push it free. He didn’t look until Will whimpered against him, reached out to grasp Hannibal’s jacket to ground himself.

And then he looked.

Then he _saw._

Rope crossed over Will’s chest in an intricate pattern; twists, knots, lacing Will’s ribs together as though it were the only thing holding him together. Hannibal brought up careful fingers to follow a line, wrapping his palm around Will’s side and drawing him nearer, resting his chin atop Will’s head as he pressed to him, clinging to Hannibal with trembling knuckles.

He was extraordinary.

“Remarkable boy,” Hannibal whispered, drawing both hands up against Will’s shoulders, feeling the rope between his fingers as he held him tighter, as he turned his fingers in the twists to draw them harder against Will’s skin, just enough for him to feel, just enough to promise. “Beautiful Will.”

Will’s breath shuddered against him, a moan escaping him despite himself. Despite how desperately he wanted to remain stoic, unshakeable, that powerful beast that so confidently shoved himself against Hannibal in his office after a case, that so proudly displayed himself to him, demanding his mouth and hands and cock, that wasn’t bound by _this_.

But he was better. He was more than that.

He was _remarkable_ to Hannibal.

Will released him long enough to let the shirt drop from his arms to the floor before grasping Hannibal’s lapels and kissing him again.

An inkling of that power woke searing against the rope that held him tight as he felt Hannibal turn his fingers again, making fibres sing against his skin. An inkling of that power hummed in his veins when Hannibal kissed him back just as passionately, just as deeply as he’d kissed the beast beneath Will’s bones before.

Hannibal spread a hand against his face, grasped harsh in Will’s hair enough to draw another moan from him. This was the Will he’d demanded to see, the one he’d been aching to own. This was the Will he imaged behind closed eyes, alone in bed. This was the man Hannibal was a monster for.

He hooked his fingers beneath a knot above Will’s waistband and drew him impossibly nearer, spreading Will’s legs with his knee between them. His other hand he moved to the button, the fly of Will’s pants and roughly worked both open.

This time, it was Hannibal’s voice that peeled free in a moan.

The rope didn’t cinch at his waist, knotting at the back and falling free. It branched from the knot Hannibal held Will by, and framed his cock that arched against intricate lace towards Hannibal’s waiting palm.

Stunning, delicate, incredible thing, his Will Graham.

Their next kiss was biting, Hannibal claiming back the man he lost when he went to every new case, every new scene. Claiming the man he’d craved since the moment he’d met him, ruffled and angry in Jack Crawford’s office. 

He wondered if Will had been so tied then. If he had wrapped the rope against his skin and felt its embrace with every deep inhale. He knew without asking that he had. He knew without asking that Will has been doing this for a long, long time, tying his ribs to him when they felt fit to burst, wrapping his skin against aching bones when nightmare claws threatened to tear it asunder.

Practiced fingers, practiced knots.

_I’ve tried._

Will rocked against Hannibal’s knee, shameless, now, in seeking his refuge in him. He gave in to the biting, arched his neck when Hannibal’s teeth sought from his lips to his jaw and beneath it. He gave him his voice when Hannibal sucked hard enough to bruise, to claim him.

_I’ve tried alone, but I need -_

“Yes,” Hannibal told him, hot breath against Will’s collarbone, tasting the rope against his skin as he sucked bruises there too.

Yes. That need. That ache. This net that Will drew against him no longer had to be of his own making, no longer had to be twisted into familiar patterns his mind knew how so easily to escape from.

Will’s hands dropped from Hannibal only long enough to shove his pants lower, before he grasped him to balance himself as he kicked free his shoes. He wanted this. He _needed_ it. The acceptance of his anger was enough. The acceptance of his monstrosity. The acceptance of his temper. The acceptance of his mistrust and his cynicism and his sarcasm… but the acceptance of _this_ , Will’s most intimate escape, his most trusted solution -

“Please,” he breathed, stumbling backwards until his thighs hit the back of the couch, until he pushed up on his toes to sit up on it and wrapped his legs around Hannibal to yank him nearer. His hands tore against the neat hair, pulling it beautifully out of order, fingers roughed up the immaculate tie. He didn’t undress Hannibal, he wanted him as he was. He needed him to stay that way as Will came undone before him. His hands sought Hannibal’s belt, trembled against the hook and zipper of his pants before grasping him with both hands.

“Remarkable,” Hannibal repeated. He drove himself against Will harder, feeling every pulse of his cock against his own. They rutted together, driving the other breathless, catching lips together in biting kisses that near-drew blood in their passion. 

Hannibal wrapped his hand against the knot holding the entire intricate web together and _pulled_ , feeling Will’s breath hitch as the rope tightened around his cock, pulled harder up against his ass. He watched as Will arched into it, sought more, sought further. Hannibal twisted harder, enough to bring goosebumps to Will’s skin that he chased with his tongue, enough to hitch his breath, and feel it puff free against his mouth before he devoured him again.

And then he let it go, tucked fingertips against the knot and loosened it, working it until the rope fell free across Will’s thighs.

He would undo him. Unknot him. Untie him. He would bring Will to his weakest, his most vulnerable and beautiful. 

And then he would put him together again.

Because it was what Will wanted. Because it was what he _needed_.

Because he had come to Hannibal for this.

Hannibal caught Will against the small of his back, arching him backwards over the couch until his hands sought to press to the leather cushions, to balance himself prone as Hannibal’s lips teased against the black lace stretched around Will’s cock.

Will moaned, cursing, and dropped his head back, letting Hannibal tongue him through the lingerie. He closed his eyes and felt the blood rush between his legs, cock throbbing beneath Hannibal’s practiced tongue. He locked his elbows, arched his back, and surrendered himself.

Hannibal kept Will’s aching cock trapped beneath the lace as he sucked against him, tasting Will’s desperation, letting the smell of his arousal fill him entirely.

He was extraordinary, always, but especially like this; spread and presented, wrapped as a gift for Hannibal to open.

And he did, careful fingers slipping the rope against the insides of Will’s thighs as he ducked his head to suck against his balls, tickling shivers through him, pulling whimpers from trembling lips. Hannibal tilted Will further, bent to kneel before him as he pressed his lips next between his cheeks, rubbing the lace against sensitive skin until Will’s voice pulled keening from him, begging.

Clever fingers spread him wider, caught the delicate edge of the panties to pull them aside for Hannibal to press his tongue hot against Will’s hole, shuddering in pleasure at the taste of him. Hannibal’s thumb hooked harder against the lace, and held Will open as he pushed his tongue inside, spearing it to press deep before teasing soft licks against the skin. Beneath him, Will moaned, legs curling over Hannibal’s shoulders, heels digging into his skin where his hands could not.

Hannibal took his time. He relished every whimper, every plea, every breathless curse as he took his fill of Will Graham. He was drunk on him, on everything Will was and could be - would be - with him. He could smell the precome as it smeared against the lace, he could feel the heat of Will’s body as it shivered and tensed for him, he grinned as Will’s balls tightened closer to his body, anticipation warring with the desire to hold back.

Hannibal relented only because he wanted nothing more than to be inside him, to feel Will lose himself to this pleasure as Hannibal took him like this. Hannibal pulled back and brought Will up against him, parting his lips to the hungry exploration that met him, smiling as Will’s hands pressed to his cheeks and held him still.

Hannibal wrapped his arms around Will, securing him near, before he stepped back and knelt, taking Will with him, bringing him spread against his lap.

“Hannibal -”

“Yes,” he breathed worship against Will’s lips, drew both hands through his hair to tug it off his face before he kissed him again.

Will’s hands scrambled against him, curling Hannibal’s tie between them, letting it free, wrinkling the silk of his vest, his jacket, in his desperate attempts to being Hannibal closer. He dropped his hands between them, stroking Hannibal free of his pants, stroking him until he felt slick against his palm. Will smeared a kiss against Hannibal’s cheek and pushed himself up on his knees, hovering above him, eyes half closed in absolute abandon.

Hannibal tugged aside the lace, met Will’s hand with his other to line himself up. They moaned in tandem, voices low in their pleasure as Will slowly sank down into Hannibal’s lap again.

Here they eased, no more the clawing desperation, no more the biting claim. Will wrapped his arms over Hannibal’s shoulders and pressed to him cheek to cheek, catching his breath before tensing his muscles and sitting up again. Just enough to feel. Just enough to hitch Hannibal’s breath.

“Beautiful thing,” Hannibal whispered, sitting still as Will worked himself against him, building a slow, agonizing pace for them both. “You needn’t try alone. You needn’t weave these webs against yourself when I can do it for you.”

Will gasped, turning gritted teeth against Hannibal’s jaw as he sunk down again. His hands tangled in Hannibal’s hair, holding tight.

“I will put you back together,” he promised, grasping the rope still knotted against Will’s back. “I will find your mind when it wanders, bring you home,” he turned his wrist, felt the rope tighten, closed his eyes in pleasure as Will whimpered, fucked himself faster. “As Ariadne through the labyrinth, I will lead you back to me, through everything and anything, my Will.”

“Fuck,” Will sobbed, sinking down harder, digging his knees into the floor to push himself back up. He could feel the rope press to his skin, he knew it would leave marks held so tight. He hoped for it.

But Hannibal worked his fingers into the knot and loosed it next. Then the one above it, and the one above that. He undid Will as Will undid himself against him; powerful body pushing down and arching up, over and over. Will felt the heat in his belly, the fire in his blood as tendril by tendril the rope loosened from around him, fell whispering from his skin to the floor.

When Hannibal’s hand slipped beneath the collar, Will clung to him, burying his need against Hannibal’s shoulder, shuddering his pleasure as he felt Hannibal come. And then, only then, did Hannibal unlock that last bind and set Will free of himself, the collar falling against the hardwood as Will lost himself to orgasm.

They sat together, bodies weak and spent, Will entirely bare safe for the lace like ink against his hips, high over the curves of his ass. He held to Hannibal until he could breathe again, until he felt gentle fingers in his curls, slipping them from his face. He didn’t open his eyes until Hannibal kissed him, lips soft against Will’s own, coaxing them open to share breath. He didn’t smile until he felt that familiar tilt of Hannibal’s grin against his cheek.

“There you are,” Hannibal whispered, cupping Will’s face. “I’ve got you.”

**Author's Note:**

> रसास्वाद|rasasvada  
> — (noun) An untranslatable sanskrit word, rasasvada is defined as the state of bliss one experiences when one’s mind is completely empty. It an overall appreciation and euphoria from the absence of thoughts.


End file.
